Rage
by TehDARKTemplar
Summary: They destroyed his village, they killed his family, his wife, his four year old son, his two month old daughter… He could have been happy, been satisfied, living the life, growing old alongside his wife, watching his children accomplish great things, and grow up and then have children of their own. But it was not to be... Varus, the Arrow's Retribution. One-shot.


**I threw this together in like 20 minutes, not too much, but it's something. I was toying with this idea, and it just bore fruit. Plus, I've been taking a break from writing Noxian Assassins/True Strength for a while, I was updating kind of fast so... Anyways, Lord of teh ring, sorry for not running this by you, but I just need you to beta NA/TS for me, one-shots I think I can handle XD Kudos to justduet on DeviantArt for letting me use their Varus artwork, check out more their artwork there, she has a lot of good League artwork.**

**Enjoy, kids! And make sure to review, it makes it so much more special for me :D**

Rage.

His hate of them runs deep.

The Noxians invaded, crushing the Ionian resistance. They came to the temple, to release the corruption, he was honor bound to keep the corruption inside where it could not be released.

He fought inwardly between honor and family, duty and love. In the end, he chose duty and honor, the corruption had to be contained. He succeeded, slaying all of the enemies who attempted to breach the temple walls, and yet… it was a bitter victory.

They destroyed his village, they killed his family, his wife, his four year old son, his two month old daughter… He could have been happy, been satisfied, living the life, growing old alongside his wife, watching his children accomplish great things, and grow up and then have children of their own.

But that was not to be… he remembers their mutilated bodies. The village elders, young adolescents, children, babies… exterminated. Why? They did nothing, they were not a threat.

He was the threat. _He_was the one they should have went after.

He remembers the rage he felt, the overwhelming sorrow consuming his very being. He remembers sobbing into his wife's cold, motionless chest, cradling his dead daughter, his boy, hung from a tree… He remembers going to the temple in despair, with nothing left to live for. He remembers breaking down the doors that lead to the center of the temple, shooting down the ancient guards that tried to hold him back, some even tried to reason with him.

But he gave them no heed, except for an arrow being drawn from his quiver and being shot.

He remembers staring down at the pit, full of purple corruption, writhing, reaching out to him, yearning for him. It needed to be fed. He remembers falling, falling, falling, and then… nothing…

Now, he wakes up, suffocating. Suddenly, the will to live, to _kill_, fills his being. He must be free, he must avenge what he has lost. He screams, his voice is cut off by the blanket of corruption surrounding him, infecting him. He writhes, straining at the bonds holding him down. He pulls and scratches at the bindings that are pulling him down the pit. He fights with every fiber of his being, pulling, kicking, scratching, straining, all in an effort to reach the surface.

Then finally, the corruption loosens its hold, and he shoots up to the surface. He explodes out of the pit, and lands on the stone floor that surrounds the pit.

Coughing and hacking, he struggles to fill his lungs with precious, life giving air. The cool air fills his lungs, and gradually, he notices that the air feels different against his skin.

He looks down at his hands, they are covered in a purple skin, the corruption. He notices now that his vision is different, tinged purple. His eye sight, before excellent, is now perfect. He can see for miles, pin pointing targets, seeing the tiniest movement.

The corruption had taken him in as one of its own. The rage and sorrow that had consumed him before is now part of him, in the form of the corruption clothing and altering him. Even his bow is different, a fleshy mass of purple corruption, eternally supplied by arrows made up of the corruption that _lives_on his skin, moving about, tightening, loosening, like a snake.

Experimentally, he summons an arrow. It _grows_ out of the corruption, forming an arrow and then nocking itself to the bow. He stares at it, then pulls back on the bow.

Whereas before one needed enormous strength to be able to draw back the string of his bow, one now needed god like strength. The strain is almost too much, but rage again fills his being and he roars, pulling back with all his might, and now the arrow is ready to fire.

He aims at a nearby wall, and lets loose. The wall crumbles as soon as the arrow makes impact; the arrow i_nfects_ the remains of the stone wall, writhing about it, surrounding it. Then is slowly slithers back to him, and his body reabsorbs it into his leg. It travels through his body and then a noticeable bump appears on his forearm, and then resettles.

A sound is heard, the clanging of metal. He turns around, his reflexes and speed now superhuman, and draws. A Noxian. His first kill in his new state. How fitting.

The arrow cuts through the air, and explodes out the Noxian's back, then flings itself back into the Noxian's chest cavity, and then begins to do its horrid work.

The Noxian screams, not because of the chest shattering shot, but because of the experience of his _rage_his _sorrow_and above all, his _hate_.

The Noxian stares at the beast, the monstrosity before him. Words form on his lips, but he is quickly silenced by an arrow to the face.

He quickly reabsorbs his corruption, and then moves out of the temple. It is raining, as if the world itself felt the presence of a new malevolent being. Thunder and lightning crash, providing for the perfect backdrop for the beginning of his vengeance.

He screams into the night sky, pouring everything into it, and the earth itself recedes from his location, drawing away from the purple corruption that is pouring out of the temple.

He is Varus, the Arrow of Retribution. Vengeance shall be his, and no one will stop him from taking what is rightfully his. His enemies will cower before him, and he will unleash his rage upon them. With the corruption, nothing is impossible.

His rage is unending.

**Thank you for reading my fic, and please review.**


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